Bait
by dontblameme-igrewupontv
Summary: "Over the summer, Puberty-Clause gave her curves and legs, and a very distracting torso.  All it gave me was a hormone tumor in my brain that makes me think about curves and legs, and a very distracting Sam."
1. Pride and Cheese

Notes: This story was inspired by the episode "iGet Pranky", and Sam's 'little crush' on Spencer. This chapter has brief reference to "iCarly Awards"

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Pride and Cheese

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She just whips off her shirt, all pride and cheese in her grin. And, yeah, well no one would blame her for that. I'd be proud too, if I went from a small B to a small D over the summer, and I'm staring, a little slack jawed at her sudden…topless-ness. The product of puberty causing her chest to strain against a black silk bra.

"Sam!" I yell, a little unable to get past my one word scolding. She doesn't even look at me, just leaning towards the coffee table in my living room, both of us sitting side by side on the couch.

"What?" She asked, completely not caring, because I'm not barbeque ribs, and right now that's all that matters to her. She starts to put a generous portion on her plate from the foil wrapped platter sitting on the table. She leans over farther, and I'm sure—almost positive that she's going to fall out of her bra.

"You took your shirt off." I reply, sounding like an idiot. Just staring at her, like an idiot.

"Uh, yeah. I'm eating ribs. It's what I do."

I know that's what she does, when she's at home and not in my living room.

"Uh, yeah." I mock; my initial shock wearing off, allowing me to gain some sense back, but the shock just kind of turns into this flipping in my stomach. "But can you not do it out in the open like this."

She takes a bite out of a broken piece of ribs, still ignoring me, but I'm not entirely surprised. Not a lot of things can distract her from meat. I just sigh, resigning in how easy it is for her to win anything with me. Besides, we were the only ones in my apartment right now, and will be for a while. I delicately place a few ribs on my plate, and grab a stack of napkins for my lap.

Sam hates napkins. Apparently.

I make the mistake of looking over at her, and see half her plate empty already and barbeque sauce smeared all around her lips. I should be marveling at how she could possibly eat that fast, but I'm not. I'm marveling at her lips that are now occupied by sucking on each of her fingers, one by one.

I stare at the scene of food foreplay that's being created in front of me, and try to shake myself out of my thoughts a bit. Or a lot.

"You…You know, if you ruin that bra, I'm not giving you one of mine." I say it, looking down on my lap at my untouched ribs, picking up a piece and nibbling on it a bit. I try to keep my eyes busy, because they were more than ready to move back down to her chest. I hear her let out a little laugh.

"Why not?"

Now I laugh a little.

"Don't think it'd fit."

Why did I think this train of conversation was going to distract me from Sam sitting next to me in a bra? I'm an idiot.

"It's not my fault they keep growing." She's a little indignant, but mostly playful. I pick at my food, not looking at her.

"Yeah, that must suck."

My voice is quieter than I meant for it to be, and I can feel her looking over at me. I take another bite of barbeque meat.

"My eyes don't exist to all males on this planet." Sam claims, in all its injustice. I smile into my napkin as I wipe the corners of my lips. "That's practically half the population." That's a shame, really, because her eyes are one of my favorite things about her. All blue and oceans and drowning.

I remember one afternoon over the summer where I just stared at her, thinking of all the things her eyes reminded me of. There was a pressure building in my chest when she looked back at me, but she didn't say anything, just let me stare, staring right back.

The pressure comes back at the memory, and I move to look at her again, thinking that there was no harm in it. I can look at her eyes, because she's still looking at me. As soon as I do, I'm immediately distracted by the still stained lips. All smirks and sticky sauce. Which in turn makes me notice the same dark brown sauce that has dripped and taken residence on…her chest. The spot on the top of her right breast kept my gaze for a moment, until Sam laughs quick and hard. It jolts me a little, bringing my eyes back up.

"See what I mean? Why do I even have eyes?" I blush at that, almost used to the feeling of heat rising in my cheeks, because with her it just happens a lot lately. I look forward anyway, breaking contact. I almost tell her that _she's_ the one who decided to start stripping in my apartment, so really it's not my fault. I don't though, because the spot of sauce on her chest looked almost ready to migrate south. I really don't want Sam to ruin her bra and decide she doesn't need to wear that either. I really don't, I say to myself again, as if that would make it true.

"You have barbeque sauce on your chest. That's what I was looking at."

I see her look down and back at me.

"Yeah, sure. I never heard that one before." Sam's voice is all teasing and playful. "What, this little spot?" She asks, and I see out the corner of my eye her left hand pointing to it. I blush more, like it's just automatic almost every time she looks at me with a teasing grin.

I know she's baiting me. She knows I'm easy to bait.

I look over, determined to keep eye contact, and almost instantly failing miserably.

When I get my sight back to the spot on her chest, she moves her finger from pointing position, to run along the top of her breast, collecting the sauce on her fingertip along the way. She's purposely moving slowly, a light trail of barbeque smearing across her chest. Then she brings her finger to her lips, taking it in her mouth and sucking all evidence away.

Is it harder to breath in here, or is it just me?

Over the summer, Puberty-Clause gave her curves and legs, and a very distracting torso. All it gave me was a hormone tumor in my brain that makes me think about curves and legs, and a very distracting Sam. My body reacts too easily, I blush too hard, and everything Sam says is flirty and sexual. Even though I know it's not. It's just my tumor.

But this isn't my tumor. She's being flirty and sexual, and I flush at it, feeling my stomach drop a little. Or a lot.

"You still have sauce all over your face." My voice only cracks once and I'm so proud of that.

But not as proud as her, pride and cheese with that grin, leaning closer to me. Instinctively, I lean back just enough so her chest doesn't touch me.

"Where?" She asks, her voice a lowering a little.

"Your mouth." I whisper, looking hard at her licking her lips.

"Do you mind?" She whispers back. I crease my eyebrows a little at the question; not really knowing what she's asking, but almost positive that my answer will be 'no, I don't mind'. Before I can ask for a clarification, she picks the napkins out of my lap. Sam leans back against the couch, wiping her mouth roughly, and it takes me moment to catch up and breathe again.

I put my plate of ribs back on the table, not having an appetite for them anymore.

"Do you want a soda?" Sam asks me, after she makes her face as clean as it's going to get.

I sigh a little. "Sure."

Right when she's about to get up, I hear the rattling of the lock on the front door. I feel a rush of panic run through me, because I know its Spencer, and he isn't supposed to be home for at least another hour. I hit Sam lightly, pointing at the door with urgency in my eyes, and she just hits me back a little harder and shrugging. I'm about to sternly tell her to put her freaking shirt back on, but it's already too late, the door's opening, and Sam's shirt is still somewhere behind the couch.

I stand up quickly, not really knowing why. We weren't doing anything wrong. Just eating ribs.

"Hey, guys." He greets us, looking down as he put his keys back into his jean pocket.

"Hey, handsome." Sam says back, standing up and walking toward the kitchen. After a moment, I hear the fridge open, presumably getting us soda's. I don't look though, because I'm watching Spencer stare at Sam's movement's with a slack jaw. His eyes are wide, and Sam might as well not have a head, because Spencer really wouldn't have noticed. I feel my stomach tighten and I think I might smack him in a second if he doesn't stop, but when she's out of sight in the kitchen, his shocked stare turns towards me. He points to her, and I walk up to him a little.

"We were eating ribs, and Sam doesn't wear a shirt when she eats ribs." I don't deliver that sentence with any kind of confidence, and he just raises his eyebrows at me. I kind of wish he would just say something.

"I didn't think you'd be home early." My voice is quieter, and more sincere.

He glances back to the kitchen then flinches away again, probably regretting the decision to look again. After taking a few steps closer to the couch, he gives me a look I don't see often.

"I'm going to my room. Tell her that she needs to keep her clothes on." Spencer is all kinds of serious when he says it. I mean, like 'dad' serious, and it makes me cringe like I do when I'm in trouble. But that's all he says, and then much to my relief, he retreats to his room.

I move to the back of the couch and grab the yellow tee shirt, and storm over to the kitchen. Sam is leaning against our butcher block table, avoiding eye contact.

"Sorry." She says, apparently hearing all that was said a minute ago.

I sigh a little, then toss the shirt toward her, watching her catch it easily.


	2. Sullen and Pouty

Notes: This chapter has reference to "iGet Pranky".

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Sullen and Pouty

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"So you have a crush on my brother?" I'm trying very hard to sound casual, and I almost pull it off but there's a strain that I can hear in my voice.

Sam looks up at me from the couch in my room, and I pick a little at the hem of my comforter that I'm lying on. I stretch my legs out a little more on my bed, anxious because she's just looking at me all quiet. It's been a couple days since she let it accidently slip that her crush was the only reason that she wasn't bashing his face in for all the pranks he pulled this week.

She's still looking at me, like she doesn't even remember it. Funny, since that's practically all I can think about.

"I said a 'little' crush." She corrects and then just lies back down on the couch and closes her eyes, like that's all there is to say.

"Oh, well excuse me." I'm all sarcastic now, with just a pinch of bitterness. "So, you're just a 'little' in love with my brother."

Sam doesn't get up, or even open her eyes, but she hurls a nearby pillow at me. It hits me square in the face too, much to my disbelief, because she wasn't even aiming. I huff a little like a kid, tossing the pillow aside and fix my hair.

"How much is a little?" I cross my arms over my chest, watching her sit back up and look at me over the back of the couch.

"You don't have to worry." Her voice is serious, saying it as she stands up and moving toward my dresser. Then a smile sneaks up on her face. "I'll be an awesome Sister-in-Law, when we get married." Just after it's said, she runs and jumps on my built in trampoline, hurling herself on my bed. Sam lands heavy next to me, and I squeak from shock, afraid that she's going to land on my spleen. But she doesn't, ridiculously coordinated when she wants to be. Once she's done bouncing with the springs of my bed I smack her with a pillow, which she overreacts the impact, a gush of air whooshing out of her.

Blonde hair is sprawled across my pillows, and she's on her back grinning like she's just the funniest person in the world. Yeah, I'm not laughing.

"Come on, Carls." She tries. "I'm not going to date your brother."

That's really not the issue; because I know that Spencer would never do that, and Sam—…well, Spencer would never do that. That's not why I'm all sullen and pouty, even though I know I shouldn't be. It's just that I don't like thinking about Sam crushing on someone, being flirty and blushing, and it being Spencer makes the 'ew' factor rise. I don't want Sam crushing on anyone, because I realized recently that I was crushing on Sam.

"I know." I'm quiet, pulling more on my comforter, watching the rise and fall of her stomach as she breaths. Sam looks at me.

"You know?" Her voice is curious, and I scoff a little.

"Well, yeah. You're a little too young for him."

"I could if I wanted to." She goes kind of monotone, but I'm not really paying attention, because I'm looking at her tan legs disappear along the bottom of her shorts.

"I doubt that." I reply and look up at her face, just in time to see her eyes narrow a little.

"You want to bet?" I instantly recognize that look, and my eyes widen.

No. She looks like she always does when someone is challenging her, a crazy stubbornness and determination. But I wasn't, really, really, wasn't wanting that.

"No." I say, all scared and showing it.

"I could…" Sam trails off, gears turning in her head, getting a scheming look on her face.

"No, Sam!" I almost scream, freaking out a little. But Sam is so _stubborn_ when she's got something in her head, and I think I might just die if she actually tries for it, and I don't need unnecessary years in therapy.

"Carly—"

"You can't do that to me!" I'm sitting up, just yelling at her like I caught her cheating on me, and I know I'm freaking out. And she knows I'm freaking out, so she's sitting with me, 'whoa-ing' me, and running her hands down my arms.

"I'm just teasing. I'm not going to do anything." The look in her eyes, the one of danger and mischief, is gone completely. I breathe out, believing her and calming down. I pull my knees up to my chin, pouting a little.

"I don't like that kind of teasing." My voice sounds shaky, so Sam starts to rub my back lightly. Or maybe my voice sounds shaky because Sam starts to rub my back lightly. I'm not sure, and Goosebumps are moving swiftly across my arms.

"What kind of teasing do you like?"

God.

She sounds flirty and sexual, and I close my eyes for a second, before they open again and look at her. She's searching my face and smiling slightly.

I hate my hormone tumor.

"I don't like any teasing." My voice is low, and I hate how I was going to kick her out a minute ago, and now I'm pulling my legs closer to my body, trying to quell the sudden clenching in my stomach. I hate it. But I really don't, like—not at all. I kind of love it.

I wish she knew what she does to me, but a slightly bigger part of me doesn't dare wish such a thing, so I just let the heat burn its way to my cheeks.

"That's too bad." Her voice is distracted, and her hand starts to wrap its way into my hair, gently curling and playing with it. "Because I love teasing you."

She's baiting me.

Like it's all some kind of game, and she's just waiting for me to start playing.

I sigh into my knees. "I know." Then I close my eyes again.

I'm easy to bait.


	3. Without Even Trying

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Without Even Trying

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I hear Spencer's voice as I make my way down the stairs in our apartment. I really hated having to study on Saturday, but grades are important to me, I guess. It seems that priorities are shifting for me lately, though. It was almost one o'clock in the afternoon, and I'm ready to actually start my weekend. I'm about to yell out to Spenc, my first few steps down, until I hear Sam's distinct laughter follow after his voice. I freeze at that, not really sure why. Sam didn't let me know she was coming by, even though I knew that she would, she always does, but usually she sends me a text, or something.

The rest of my steps are slow and quiet, until I reach the turn in the stairs and see them sitting at the counter separating the living room and kitchen. Sam facing the front door, and Spencer sitting opposite of her. She is talking too low for me to hear, but Spenc is starting to go on about Socko's pool, and the waterslide he put in. I'm a little relieved to hear the innocent topic, feeling stupid for suspecting anything else.

I finish my trek down the stairs, and Sam sees me first.

"Hiya, Kiddo." She's cheerful, and Spencer jerks around a little fast, giving me a smile that was a little too bright.

I'm about to respond, when I see that she's wearing her Cuddlefish tank top. I remember that tank from last year. And it's totally obvious that it's from last year because it's too tight around her chest, giving her an almost ridiculous amount of cleavage. I just got here, and I can barely stop looking at it. I suddenly really want to know how long she's been letting Spencer look at it.

"When did you get here?" I ask hurriedly.

"Um, like 5 minutes ago." She starts to give me a weird look, like she can see right through me and see everything that I'm thinking. Which, of course is ridiculous, but it might as well be true because I'm terrible at hiding things from her. She, on the other hand, has been known to hide a few things in the past.

A thought strikes me that maybe she was still thinking about getting with Spencer. Maybe gears were still turning in her head, and she still felt challenged, because she is so stubborn. I watch my brother go to the kitchen, and Sam makes her way to me. I watch the expressions on her face, seeing if there was any guilt hiding underneath shifting eyebrows, and it's really hard to admit that I can't tell if my best friend is lying.

But Sam is really good at lying.

"Why didn't you txt me?" I ask when she's standing by me, next to the couch.

But Sam doesn't lie to me.

"Do I need an invitation, all of a sudden?" Giving me that weird look, like she can see right through me.

We've already gone through this, Sam and I, and we decided. No lies, no secrets, we tell each other everything. Yeah…that's easier said than done.

"No, of course not." I'm sincere when I say it, because this is stupid, the way I'm acting, especially for her because she has no idea why I'm doing it. "What were you guys talking about?"

"Socko's new waterslide." Spencer interjects, with his mouth full and a half eaten apple in his hand. "I was thinking we could all head out there next weekend, if the weather's good." His eyes light up with an innocent sparkle that makes me smile and feel a little better about everything.

"That sounds good." I reply, a little excited at the prospect, and at the grin spreading across Sam's face.

"Fred-dork's coming over soon, and we're going to the mall, if that's cool." She announces with that same vocal twang she always gets when she comes up with an unimaginative name for Freddie. And I kind of love all the little things that never change about her.

I look over to Spencer and see him looking—at Sam's chest.

Damn it.

All the things that _are_ changing about her are becoming problematic.

My eyes flash red for a second, and I grab Sam and start pulling her towards my room.

Once we're there, I make a bee line for my dresser.

"What's the rush, cupcake?" I roll my eyes, mostly to myself, and hear her loudly place herself on my bed.

Once I find what I'm looking for, "Here, wear this." I pull it out of the dresser and toss it to her, which she catches easily.

She examines the blue tee shirt, in mild curiosity, but making no move to put it on. After a moment she looks me dead in the eye. "Why?" Completely serious, as if she's that dense. I know better.

"Because you're shirt is too small." I let out a frustrated sigh in the midst of that sentence.

"I like small shirts." She replies nonchalantly, tossing the shirt towards the foot of the bed, and falling down so that she was laying on the bed sideways, with her feet dangling off the edge.

I start to fume slightly and stomp over to where she's lying.

"You were the one who was complaining about no one thinking you have eyes."

Her eyes are half closed, and uninterested in my looming form leaning over her.

"It's too hot to wear that shirt over my tank." Yeah, well, duh. I roll my eyes.

"Take the tank off."

Her arms move behind her head, causing the Cuddlefish logo to stretch and move up over her chest, and broad stip of skin appears right above the waist band of her jean shorts.

"That sounds like a lot of work, and this is Saturday." She goes on to explain, as I half listen and half stare at the rise and fall of her stomach. She shifts a little on the bed, cloths shifting with her and I see a thin line of pink right underneath her shorts.

I've got to stop this.

"I don't work on Saturday." She finishes, and I tear my eyes away to look at her, and see her hooded eyes watching me, completely caught.

"You don't work on _any_ day." I say after a beat, because she thinks I wasn't paying attention. But I was half listening, and despite that, a smirk creeps it's way on her face.

"Exactly."

I roll my eyes again, not really wanting to play anymore, because I know I don't affect her like she affects me. She wouldn't be able to tease me so much if I did.

"Take your tank off."

She sits up quick, and it surprises me how the move closes most of the space between us. I hadn't realized that I was so close to the bed, my knees touching the edge, and my legs had walked in between hers.

"Take it off for me."

Um.

"…What?"

She leans back on her hands, swinging her legs slightly, brushing against my claves. I just heard her wrong.

"If you want it off, then take it off."

She's so serious, but she can't mean it like that. It's just the tumor. It is. I know it is. Why the hell is she smirking?

"Sam…" I say it with warning, because there's no way for her to be hiding her intentions this time. She's not even trying. She's using a sirloin as bait instead of a worm, that's how hard she isn't trying.

She's still for a moment, both of us quiet, then her shoulders shrug. "Okay, let's go to the mall." Sam sits back up, and her body starts to make moves for its departure from my bed.

"Wait."

Oh, God.

I said that way too fast. Like desperate fast, afraid suddenly that a golden opportunity was going to disappear. It was a little too loud too, at least it sounded like that to me, but you wouldn't be able to tell the difference the way Sam's just so…unaffected by it all. Lucky her.

She's just still, no longer trying to leave. Still, and watching me quietly. She does this for a while, because I'm not moving, not really sure why, but I can't seem to make my limbs work. That is until Sam lifts her arms straight up like a little kid needing help getting dressed.

Okay, fine.

My hands move to the hem of her top, and I make the mistake of looking down. Down at those blue eyes looking up at me, and suddenly my task that I was going to complete quickly, slows down along with the seconds. My fingers feel like they're burning along her skin as I pull up, bunching the material in my palms. I make it over the dip of her hips, feeling goose bumps start to rise.

"Don't go too fast, or you'll end up getting it off sometime today." Her eyes sparkle, but her smirk's weak, not breaking eye contact with me. Her arms sag a bit, resting on the top of her head.

I shift my hands under and up the material of her shirt. "Stop teasing me." Because I might die if you don't.

I run my nails across her back gently, and over a few of her ribs. She's usually ticklish, and usually that would be enough to get her to burst into a fit of laughter, but she doesn't laugh. I just see her eyes flutter a little, and hear a breath hiss out through a clenched jaw.

"Who's teasing who?" Her voice is thick and quiet. I pull my hands up more, taking the top with me, and regretfully, I pull it over her head and break contact with her. The too small tank top gets tossed toward my dresser, because even with my affinity for neatness, not a lot could make me move from this spot right now.

Sam leans back on her hands again, and I think it makes me lean forward a little, some sort of invisible push and pull system between us. When my eyes make their way to soak in the sight of her, something in my brain short circuits, having her practically topless on my bed.

And there's Sam, with a toothy grin begging for attention, and a pink push up bra that matched the slight glimpse of panties I saw earlier. And here's you, remembering that slight flipping in your stomach that you got around her, and multiplying it by 10 so you have a working definition of what this feeling is.

"Who did you wear this for?" I ask, even though it's not in a way a friend would ask that question, and I vaguely register that I'm treading in dangerous territory. But I'm starting to put pieces together, and her cleavage wasn't completely the fault of her shirt, and since when does she feel the need to 'push' anything 'up'?

"You know me. I always like to look pretty." Her legs start to swing lightly again, brushing against my calves.

"Hm." Is my only response, because she practically never cares what she looks like. She just always _does_ look pretty. But she tried today, and I really want to know why. Even though her breathing is super shallow now, matching mine, and she just let me take her shirt off, so I'm pretty sure I already know why. Nothing in this world will let me admit it though.

"Do you like it?" Sam sits back up, and I feel her chest brush against my stomach briefly before I have time lean back.

I almost laugh. No one except Sam, because obviously I like it. I'm beat red and I can't stop looking at her, so yeah Sam, I like it. Her voice makes me quiver a little, hating how it affects me. Lying to myself, because I really love it.

"It's pretty." Is all I can manage.

"You can—" She stops, and looks away, all confidence from her face gone as she plays with the frayed edges of her shorts. "You know…" I think I do know, but she's struggling a little to finish the sentence, as my mind speeds up to finish the thought. I start to feel the tips of my fingers tingle, as her teeth rake gently across her bottom lip, and I see her take in the breath she'll use to finish that sentence and—

"Sam, Carly!" Spencer's voice booms up the stairs, making me jump nearly a foot. I stumble back, and trip a little on Sam's legs. "Freddie's here!"

I catch myself in mid-fall, and feel the blood rush to my face as I create some distance between us. The glare I direct toward my closed bedroom door is unanswered. Sam's moving in the corner of my eye, and when I look over I see she's got the blue tee shirt on that I gave her to wear. She stands up and gives a half-hearted 'come on', and I'm just wondering if any of that really just happened.

But as we're about to walk out my room;

"Remind me to punch Fredward when we get downstairs."

I smile a little.

When we get downstairs, I don't need to remind her, because she almost immediately punches Freddie.

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	4. Fishing

Notes: Well, this is the last chapter, and I hope everyone enjoys. Unfortunately, my attention span doesn't allow me to write epically long fics, so my limit is usually 4 or 5 chapters. But I appreciate all the feedback that everyone has been sending, and as always, I love any feedback in the near future. Let the fishing metaphors continue… :)

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Fishing

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My lungs fill with as much air as I can manage, before I fold my legs under me and sink under water.

One…two…three…

When I feel the cool water rise above my head, I keep my body still and open my eyes. I see Sam in front of me, blonde hair floating against the blue of the pool, and stray air bubbles come out of her mouth when she smiles at me.

Four…five…six…

Her arms are swaying in the water, and she acts like she's at home here, as if she's meant to live in the water like a mermaid.

Seven…eight…nine…

Maybe she's not even real. Like those optical illusions. Is it a vase, or two faces? Is she beautiful and floating right in front of me, or is it just the chlorine burning my eyes, making me hallucinate?

Ten…

Almost all of me wants to stay here with her, where it's still and quiet, only us two forever, but my lungs protest my fantasy. My feet push on the floor of the pool, rocketing my body through the surface to the humid air, and I'm sucking it in my lungs with deep breaths. The sun is bright and hot, already feeling it warm my face, it's ever present threat of sunburn looming. Wiping my eyes, and catching my breath, I wait for Sam to come up a few seconds later.

"I win!" She announces after just one gasp, her voice cracking with its need of more oxygen.

"You always win." I pout a little, and swim backwards a few feet until my back is against the pool wall, and my feet flat on the floor, the water resting just below our shoulders. Without hesitating, she's following me, and moving close enough to grab a hold of the ledge, her hands on either side of my shoulders.

"Come on, Shay. Say it," She sing songs to me, moving close enough for a heat to start rising on my neck. Because, we're not in my room, or anywhere close to being alone. Socko and Spencer are, like, _right _across the pool sitting on the deck. Sam knows that, even with her back to them.

"Say it." She repeats, making me sigh and wonder what she was fishing for.

"Say, what?" Her eyes sparkle at me, and a part of me wonders why she's all of a sudden so flirty again. It's been a week since Sam was this close, insisting on me undressing her in my room. A week, and she hasn't even mentioned it.

"That I'm amazing." Her knees knock into the tops of my thighs gently. Not that Sam's been avoiding me for a week, but we just sort of ignored that big grey thing in the room that never forgets.

I roll my eyes. "It's amazing that you're half-fish."

"Top half or bottom half?" She asks distracted, while she lets one arm loose of the ledge to splash water at my blocking hands.

"Your top half is definitely human." And I don't really mean to say that out loud, but I do, and my eyes wander to the yellow bikini top that I was slack jawed over when she showed up at my apartment earlier today. I'm looking, and she knows, and there's that elephant again.

"You like my top half, don't you?" I start blushing hard at that, and maybe she just wants the complements and likes the attention. Maybe that's all this is to her. Not that it even matters, because almost all of me belongs to her these days. To do with what she will.

"It's likable." I mumble, inhaling the scent of sun block and peppermint.

I hear a snort escape her throat. "Just likable? I'd hate to know what you think about my bottom half." On cue, Sam uses her near weightless state to wrap her legs loosely around my hips. Nervously, I glance over at the Socko's porch and see that both him and Spencer are gone, leaving just us outside. Not that it even matters to Sam, because obviously she's well aware of how under her thumb I am.

Regardless, I make an attempt to push her away from me, but she just takes it as an opportunity to lace her fingers with mine, spreading my arms out and across the surface of the water.

"Sam, stop—" My voice is cut off, because when she lets go of the ledge of the pool, she evens out her balance by tightening her hold on my hips. And I feel that. Like, my head feels a little light, and I think that elephant just stepped on me.

And I'm really tired of playing this catch and release game with her.

Her hands squeeze mine in a hard jolt that makes my eyes snap to meet hers, questioning. But there isn't any question in her eyes, no levity or sparkle. Just a serious and dead calm.

She keeps me there for a moment while her legs loosen and move down and away from my thighs, and the sudden lack of heat is noticeable.

"What's going on, Carly," She leans forward and pushes her forehead gently against mine. "With us?" Her voice does a number on me, because it's deep and searching, and what on earth am I supposed to say to that? So, I close my eyes and take a breath.

One…

"I feel it when you look at me," Sam continues, and she's pulling on my left hand, still with fingers entwined with hers. She's pulling it toward her and under the water.

Two…

"I feel it here." She places the palm of my hand on her lower stomach, the waistband of her bikini bottoms brushing against my pinky finger.

Three…

"It's like," My fingers get distracted and start to roam, tracing the lines of soft muscles, rounding her bellybutton,

Four…

"My body starts to hum." Counting ribs, and moving to trace the line of material between her breasts.

Five…

Just let me stay here forever, in this place where I can touch her and she lets me, without consequences and insecurities.

Six…

"Carly, breath." She demands softly, and when her head lifts away from mine, my eyes open and I start to suck in quiet gasps of air. I feel my hand drop away from her, as black specks shine in my peripherals. I back away from her and lean against the pool wall again, and Sam lets me.

Insecurities start to well up inside me, as consequences take form inside my head. And it's hard to get my grip back on reality when all I can see is her watching me.

"Is Spencer and Socko back?" She asks without moving, and I only half wonder how she knew they left at all, with her back to the porch the whole time.

"No."

"Good."

Sam closes the space between us, with a confidence that's worth gold, fitting our lips together. And it does, yes, yes it does. It fits.

It only takes a moment, but then I'm moving with her, and realizing. It fits.

And then I'm hers. Completely.

Hook, line, and sinker.

[]

The End.


End file.
